


A Team Worth Having

by Sarcastic_Metaphor



Series: Pokemon AU [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Aizawa-centric, I'm really just here to have fun, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pokemon AU, erasermic if you squint, it's really vague but I thought I'd mention it anyways, only cool or aesthetically pleasing Pokemon allowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 20:24:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15445131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcastic_Metaphor/pseuds/Sarcastic_Metaphor
Summary: A story of how Aizawa goes from a child to an adult, slowly adding Pokemon to his party.





	A Team Worth Having

**Author's Note:**

> This is a super-self-indulgent oneshot written at 1 AM about my favorite hobo man getting a team full of Pokemon. I have no idea what I’m doing because idk how to blend Pokemon and BNHA cannon but I’m trying my best. 
> 
> (And I used Aizawa instead of Shouta bc I was too tired to change it mid-way through and there’s very obscure locations from Pokemon games in the real world but whatever. Also Aizawa’s Cofagrigus is shiny because Cofagrigus’ shiny is cool as fuck, go look it up.)

Aizawa had surprised many people throughout his life with the Pokemon he chose to ally himself with. Some said he was asking for trouble, that more than one of them was hard to control. Others were scared. Some were even shocked that a Pro-hero hardly cared for Pokemon with good IVs and EVs, and disregarded the advantages of natures almost entirely.

Aizawa didn’t need fancy Pokemon, or those that were bred for battle. In his life, where for so long he relied largely on himself, he needed companions that he could trust. Pokemon that he raised himself and knew he could rely on. He depended on them, and they cared for him. And that was all that was important to Aizawa.

* * *

Even as a small child, Aizawa Shouta was not one for theatrics. He didn’t throw tantrums in public because he knew what would happen to him once he got home. He didn’t care for brightly colored clothes and his parents never bought him very many toys.

He remembered when he was seven and found his first Pokemon. It was one that most parents wouldn’t let anywhere near their children. It was a creature considered vermin, a nuisance, or too common to be admirable.

* * *

Aizawa’s childhood home sat on the outskirts of a broad thicket of trees that separated his neighborhood from the one residing besides it. Calling it a forest would have been too generous, but he did spend many days and nights playing in the brush.

At the time, he never questioned why his parents let him play in the tall grass without a Pokemon to protect him.

On days when his parents spat venom at each other and yelled loud enough to shake the walls, Aizawa knew better than to stay in his house. He took his ratty backpack with a torn strap and went out into the backyard.

He packed a thick blanket and found the familiar, little clearing where the grass wasn’t as tall and the trees shaded him from the sun. Aizawa pulled the blanket from his bag and laid it down on the grass. Pulling one corner over his body, he was more than happy to take a nap until his parents calmed down.

The threat of wild Pokemon was a distant concern. Aizawa rested his head on his backpack and let the soft sounds of chirping Pidgeys lull him to sleep.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, but when he opened his eyes again, Aizawa wasn’t sure where he was. It was dark, and cold. Very cold.

He sat up, finding himself curled up in a grass-stained blanket. Then he remembered. Home, the shouting, finding his little napping space.

He didn’t wonder why neither of his parents bothered to search for him.

Aizawa reached for his backpack and unclipped the small, keychain flashlight from the zipper. He flicked it on, finding without joy that it barely illuminated his surroundings. It wouldn’t be hard at all to find his way home, but being a child, Aizawa had a natural fear of the dark. And the things in it.

He sat up slowly, but a sharp, chittering sound made him jump. Aizawa gasped and brought his knees up to his chest. His back hit the base of a tree.

Fumbling with the flashlight, Aizawa beamed the tiny light down at the ground. There, laying on the corner of his blanket, was a small Pokemon with matted blue fur. It chirped again, but the sound was half-hearted and tired.

Aizawa relaxed slightly, but didn’t know what to do. The Zubat seemed smaller than the ones he’d seen flying at night, and it barely seemed interested in him.

The Pokemon was surrounded by pointy, broken sticks and leaves.

Aizawa tilted his head in confusion.

Did it fall from a tree?

Aizawa would’ve left the Pokemon behind, but he realized that the poor thing was clinging to his blanket. Aizawa, with his very limited wisdom, decided to grab a large stick and prod the wild Pokemon off his blanket so he could go home.

 _“Hey,”_ He whispered, _“Hey, get off. You can’t sleep here anymore.”_

The Zubat hissed, but not even that scared the child. The Pokemon was small and weak, and Aizawa was larger than it and probably stronger. He forced the Zubat to roll over, but the stick froze in his tiny hand.

Red. There was a splotch and trail of dark red. Aizawa crept as close as he dared and found that one of the Zubat’s wings was torn. One of it’s two tails was also bleeding, and was significantly shorter than the other.

Aizawa recoiled. It looked like the tail was bitten off by another Pokemon.

The Zubat kept chittering, but it’s breathing was growing labored. Aizawa suddenly felt bad for nearly beating it with a stick.

“Hey, now.”

He set the stick down and leaned in closer. He was nearly hovering over the wounded Pokemon.

“You need help, don’t you?”

The Pokemon didn’t respond. It’s tiny teeth were still clinging to the soft blanket.

Aizawa knew the he would get in trouble if he was caught bringing a wild Pokemon home, but leaving the wounded animal out in the wild was too cruel for his little heart.

Slowly, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and began to fold up the blanket. He gently bundled the Zubat up and held the tiny Pokemon close to his chest as he began to make his way home.

As he stepped out of the final line of trees, Aizawa found that none of the lights in his house were on.

Getting in would be easy, then. He slid the old patio door open as quietly as he could and squeezed inside. The Zubat chirped every once in a while, but Aizawa was scared of covering its head.

He took his shoes off and tiptoed up the stairs in his socks.

He locked his bedroom door and set the Zubat down on the floor.

Then, Aizawa had no idea what to do. He was afraid that if he unbundled the Pokemon, it would fly around and wake up his parents. But he figured that if he was alone in the woods, he’d be hungry and thirsty.

Aizawa took the half-empty water bottle from his bedside table and sat down next to the tired Pokemon. He didn’t have a cup, or anything to hold the water, so he poured a small amount into his palm and held it next to the Zubat’s head.

He was surprised when the animal didn’t bite him, but it refused the water that slowly sank through his fingers and dampened the blanket.

Maybe it was too tired to drink.

Aizawa knew that Zubats appreciated the dark, but he didn’t have a shoe box to make a bed out of, and he didn’t want to release the Pokemon into his closet.

“Um…”

He looked around until his eyes landed on the backpack he set down.

That could work.

He emptied out the backpack of whatever else was left in it. He took an old, soft shirt from his dresser and stuffed it inside the backpack to act as a new blanket.

Then came the hard part.

As he tried to move the Zubat from the blanket to the backpack, it screeched and sank it’s teeth into his finger.

Aizawa bit his bottom lip to keep from screaming. He saw droplets of blood bubble up, but didn’t stop until he forced the Zubat inside the backpack.

Once it realized that it was somewhere dark and enclosed, the wild Pokemon relaxed it’s teeth and let Aizawa go.

He was breathing heavily, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. In that moment, Aizawa felt angry.

He was trying to help and the Pokemon bit him!

He sat there, rocking himself on the floor as he stifled the bleeding on the already-ruined blanket. Then, when the pain began to lessen, Aizawa relaxed.

He figured that if someone bigger than him tried to touch him, he’d be scared too.

Tiredly, he stood and tiptoed into the bathroom across the hall, where he ran his hand under warm water until the bleeding stopped. He put on some bandairds and went back to his room.

Too tired to change out of his clothes, Aizawa curled up on his bed.

“Goodnight.”

The Zubat didn’t respond.

But looking back on that night as an adult, Aizawa couldn’t believe that he didn’t get some sort of disease. Or an infection.

* * *

Growing up, Aizawa's neighbors were a kind, older couple with a large garden. He’d seen them from time to time and they waved at him when he walked by their home. So he was fine with going to them for help and hoping that they wouldn’t tell his parents about the Zubat.

The old woman, with her weathered but well-trained hands, treated the Zubat’s stubby, bleeding tail while her husband brought in some Oran berries from their garden.

(They also rubbed some ointment over the bite marks on his hand.)

Maybe they assumed that he was a well-meaning child who would release the Zubat after it became healthy. Maybe that was Aizawa’s original plan.

But the Zubat was quite weak. And as Aizawa came to learn, it was also hardly a picky eater. He was initially wary of those sharp teeth, but the Zubat’s lasting hunger was greater than its need to defend itself. Every night, Aizawa was amazed as the small Pokemon ate berries straight from his palm.

He filled a shallow bowl full of warm water on the third night and dipped a rag in it. He gently rubbed it over the Zubat’s body, whispering encouraging words all the while. It cooed and chittered and by the end of it, the water in the bowl was brownish but the Zubat’s fur was a brighter shade of blue.

For three more days, Aizawa gave the Zubat food and water and let it sleep in a nest of old t-shirts under his bed.

His mother found the Zubat on the sixth night, when Aizawa let the wild Pokemon fly around his room. She chased the Zubat out of the house with a broom before turning on Aizawa.

He cried that night, curled up in his bed. His back hurt and he missed the little creature that nibbled on the Oran berries he offered from his palm.

Two nights later, Aizawa woke up to the sound of chittering and flapping wings.

He turned on his bedside lamp, thinking of a monster hiding in his room or a pair of eyes gazing at him from a window. Ironically, the face in the window had no eyes. Aizawa recognized the Zubat with the partially-torn wing and stubby tail.

He opened his window just enough to stick his arms out. The Zubat landed gracelessly in his hands and chittered softly.

Aizawa smiled and ran his fingers over the warm, blue fur.

The next day, he bought a Pokeball without his parent’s permission.

* * *

When Aizawa was eight, he didn’t have many friends in school. Most of the other kids didn’t want to hang out with the “quirkless” kid. But he was fine with that. He didn’t consider himself lonely. He also wasn’t bothered by his apparent lack of a quirk.

He had his Zubat, who he considered company enough. It wasn’t captive-bred and it wasn’t as flashy as a Charmander or Squirtle, but it came out of its Pokeball at anytime Aizawa asked.

His parents grew tired of trying to chase the creature away after the third time they forced Aizawa to release it, and the third time it came back.

* * *

At the age of eight, Aizawa didn’t think he’d be adopting another wild animal.

His neighbors, the older couple, let him sit in their garden on warmer days when his parents kicked him out of the house.

He was content to nap on their patio bench when he heard the old woman shout. Aizawa startled awake and ran over. He peered around the woman’s side and saw what had scared her.

An Ekans, a wild one, was curled up beneath her Sitrus berry bushes and was staring at them curiously.

Aizawa was fascinated. Despite being much longer than Aizawa was tall, the Ekans’ body was pudgy and purple and there was a sense of intelligence in it’s narrowed eyes. But the Pokemon, apparently deciding that an old woman and a child were worth too much trouble, slithered away and into the thicket of trees.

He followed the Ekans that night. His Zubat sat on his shoulder as they carefully scoped the ground for a den.

Aizawa found it by nearly putting his foot in it.

The Ekans hissed at him in warning.

Hoping that snake Pokemon were anything like Zubats, Aizawa crouched down at a respectable distance and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a ripe Sitrus berry and rolled it toward the mouth of the shallow den.

The Ekans didn’t take it.

Aizawa, respecting the massive size of the wild Pokemon and the safety of his Zubat, left.

But he came back the next night and offered another berry. He came back every night for over a week. He didn’t attack it and it didn’t attack him.

Then one night, the Ekans turned it’s full attention on his Zubat.

Aizawa was suddenly ready to make a break for it, not wanting to fight a six foot long snake. The Ekans hissed, but his Zubat chittered back.

It was like they were becoming friends.

A week later, on the first day of summer break, Aizawa walked back into those trees with a Pokeball instead of a berry.

* * *

Aizawa got his first “proper” Pokemon shortly after coming home with an Ekans.

His parents, who hardly ever gave him much attention, were suddenly very adamant on him not taking in dangerous (Poison type) Pokemon. They were also very serious about him not letting them out in the house.

He just didn’t realize how serious his parents where until his father came home with a kennel in his arms one day.

He peered inside the plastic crate and two wide, dark eyes stared back. His father uncaged the kennel and a small, brown Pokemon hesitantly poked its nose out.

It was an Eevee.

A “respectable” Pokemon, his father called it. One better fit for a child and one that could evolve into anything.

(As an adult, Aizawa found it ironic.)    
  
Both his parents tried to get him to release his Zubat and Ekans, but to eight-year-old Aizawa, this just meant that he had three friends. He refused to get rid of the Pokemon that he made his friends and his parents hurt him with more than words that night.

Their battle went on for months.

His mother smashed his two Pokeballs with a hammer, but he just bought new ones. They took away his allowance, but Aizawa just let his Zubat and Ekans roam near the house freely. His parents tried to keep them out of the backyard, but Aizawa would sneak out and nap in the grass with them.

They tried to lock him in his room, but somehow, his Ekans managed to climb up the side of the house and curl around his windowsill with his Zubat perched comfortably on top.

And all the while, the Eevee watched. It was scared of his parents harsh words and wanted Aizawa’s attention.

But Aizawa sometimes didn’t want anything to do with the Eevee. He was stubborn, and sometimes angry, but felt that he couldn’t blame an innocent Pokemon for his predicament. Some days, he even made his parents happy by playing with the Eevee and cuddling with it at night.

(He pried open the window one night so the Eevee could meet his Zubat and Ekans face to face. He took his Eevee into the trees as often as he could and the four of them would nap together.)

When summer break ended and Aizawa started going to school with an Eevee, he was suddenly no longer the class outcast. Or at least, he wasn’t as much of an outcast.

Eevees were popular. More so than any of the other normal types in the class. (Everyone, including the teachers, were also relieved when he no longer had a giant snake following him around.) Eevees had the potential to evolve into so many types, and this was often a source of conversation around Aizawa.

“What do you want your Eevee to evolve into?”

He would usually only shrug. Aizawa really didn’t care, and wasn’t bothered by the idea of keeping his Eevee unevolved either.

At home, even his parents liked to talk about evolutions. His father wanted an Espeon to match his psychological quirk while his mother cooed over the idea of a Sylveon.

Aizawa would just tune them out when they talked about it. It was supposedly _his_ Pokemon, after all.

When he turned nine, Aizawa realized that he probably wouldn’t even have the Eevee if he never first adopted his Zubat. He would have been the only one in his class without either a quirk or a Pokemon.

His parents gave him a “proper” Pokemon, something that almost every child has, just to get rid of the ones he already loved.

* * *

Shortly after turning nine, Aizawa learned that he did have a quirk.

He didn’t mean to do it. He was watching his father yell at his mother, making her believe that she was wrong, and he suddenly just _focused._ His eyes suddenly hurt and even more abruptly, his father’s eyes lost their red glow.

He was punished that night. He went to school the next day exhausted and his teachers almost didn’t believe he had a quirk until his mother filed the proper paperwork.

He scared away the other children with what he could do. He probably scared the teachers too.

The word _villain_ started following him.

It started to weight down on him.    
  
It _hurt_ him.

He was never one for the opinions of others, but Aizawa was only a child when that word started to cling to his heels.

But his life at school wasn’t nearly as bad as at home.

He was curled up in his bed one night after accidentally using his quirk on his father again. His arms and legs and stomach hurt. His eyes hurt too.

He was crying quietly. He didn’t have the strength to open the window and hope his Zubat would hear him or his Ekans would slither inside. He thought that he was alone.

He felt something paw at his leg.

Aizawa forced one eye open and found the Eevee staring at him. He was in pain and desperate for any sort of relief, so Aizawa took his (admittedly) least favorite Pokemon and tucked it against his chest. It burrowed beneath his chin and let him sob into its fur.

It was the most grateful he’d ever been toward the Eevee, and Aizawa didn’t want to let it go.

He fell asleep that night, in pain but warm.

He woke up the next day with an Umbreon curled against his chest.

He could have laughed. His parents tried to get rid of two Poison type pokemon just for him to get a Dark type instead.

* * *

When Aizawa is eleven, he’s dead set on becoming a hero.

He wanted to help people. He wanted to prove the world wrong, too, but he doesn’t admit that. He thought about all the good he could do. Or rather, all the bad he could stop.

By the time he’s eleven, his father left, leaving just him and his mother. He was as alone in school as ever. His Umbreon’s red eyes match his own when he uses his quirk.

He saved up enough money to buy over a dozen Pokeballs. He recaptured his Zubat and Ekans. (The spares are incase his mother tries to shatter the Pokeballs again. He buys real Pokemon food too and feeds them in secret.)

Aizawa battled wild Pokemon wherever he could find them to toughen up his own.

He smiled, genuinely and excitedly, when his Zubat evolved into a Golbat.

* * *

Aizawa stayed out late one night, training his Umbreon. He made the mistake of straying out of his neighborhood in order to fight a Raticate that he found in an alley. His Ekans chased after it without Aizawa telling it to. He was about to run off after his Pokemon when he heard a voice.

“Hey, kid.”

He turned and found an adult, hunched over and almost feral looking, staring at him. But Aizawa knew he had his Pokemon and his quirk to protect him. He wasn’t scared until the man flashed a knife.

His Umbreon growled. The man laughed and suddenly, there was was savage looking Primeape in the alley with them. It looked strong and hungry for a fight. It was that moment when Aizawa remembered that Dark types didn’t do well against Fighting types.

He suddenly understood the gravity of the situation.

He reached for his pockets slowly. He wants to give the man no reason to harm him.

Aizawa kept his eyes forward, so he didn’t immediately understand why the man suddenly froze. He didn’t understand the way the man took a step back before fleeing. He didn’t understand why he looked so scared until he felt a cold tongue flick the back of his neck.

“Ekans?”

He turns around and nearly jumped out of his skin.

In the dark, shady alley is a pair of _massive_ , scowling red eyes with malicious-looking yellow pupils. They glared at him, and almost glowed in the darkness. There was a black, almost sickening grin beneath the eyes.

Aizawa was broken from his stupor by the tongue flicking a lock of hair from his eyes.

He looked  _up,_ and there was a more familiar face.

Aizawa was suddenly upset.

_“You evolved without me?”_

His new Arbok’s belly bulged happily with a fresh meal. It nudged Aizawa’s head with it’s snout apologetically. And it’s ability, Intimidate, suddenly made much more sense than when it was a pudgy-faced Ekans.

* * *

With his father gone and his mother being his mother, Aizawa’s childhood home began to fall into disrepair. The basement was the worst of all, and Aizawa was thirteen when he heard something strange.

Something beneath his feet made a loud _thump._

He assumed maybe something fell over, or it was a pump. Nothing to worry about until it happened again and again. When his mother yelled at him for making so much noise, Aizawa went to see what was happening.

The lights flickered but didn’t come on. He grabbed a flashlight from upstairs before going back down. He found the culprit soon enough.

A Gastly was floating around the basement’s ceiling, delighted with the chaos it was causing.

“Hey.” Aizawa called out tiredly, “In case you haven’t noticed, this house isn’t abandoned.”

But it might as well have been.

Aizawa wasn’t really in the mood to befriend the Pokemon. It was really just ruining his day and irritating his mother, so he battled it instead.

It was easy work for his Umbreon.

Right before the Gastly could faint, Aizawa had an idea and threw a Pokeball. He’d rather capture it and release it somewhere far away than have it come back.

Later than night, with his Umbreon and his flashlight acting as his guides, Aizawa put enough distance between him and his home before releasing the troublesome Gastly.

“Now go bother someone else.”

But it didn’t. It apparently followed him home, because Aizawa had to battle it two more times. He wondered if it was really the house the Pokemon was attracted to, or the bad memories inside of it.

When it became apparent that he has the most stubborn Gastly in the world infesting his basement, Aizawa gave up and just kept it.

He let the Gastly roam freely during the day when it was less strong and kept it close at night. It also developed a healthy amount of respect for Aizawa’s Umbreon and learned to take orders.

As an adult, Aizawa couldn’t help but find his childhood ironic. He spent years wanting to be a hero and ended up with nothing but “evil” Pokemon in his party.

A Dark type, two Poison types plus one that was part Ghost, and a kid that could erase quirks. It just proved his point that anyone with enough potential could be a hero.

* * *

Aizawa swore that the UA entrance exam was rigged. It was set up to make people like him fail.

The only good thing about it was that people saw his team and gave him plenty of space. But that was it. He relied entirely on his Pokemon -Crobat, Arbok, Umbreon, and Haunter- for the practical portion because his quirk was utterly _useless._

And he couldn’t prove he could be a good hero if he relied solely on his Pokemon.

He laid burrowed in his bed with his Umbreon snuggled under his chin. His Crobat, with one foot missing a toe, took up a large chunk of his floor. Two of its wings splayed protectively over his body. His Arbok was curled around the mattress, occasionally flicking a tongue at the top of his head. His wily Haunter was watching from the corner of the room, for once not in the mood to cause mischief.  

He hated that they were making a fuss over him.

“It’s fine. I don’t have to go to UA to be a hero. There are other schools.”

But he didn’t have a physical quirk. What he could do wasn’t flashy. It had be to done carefully, discreetly. UA was his best bet at honing in his skill. He fell asleep, numb and drained.

He got a letter from UA a week later.

* * *

UA was, unsurprisingly, exhausting. Aizawa had to work harder than anyone else in General Studies if he wanted any chance of transferring into the Heroics Course. He took on extra training and tutoring. He began sleeping less and working more.

He wanted to be a hero so badly.

But UA was also, in some ways, no different from middle school.

On the first day, they had to show what Pokemon they had. Many of his classmates flinched at the sight of his Arbok and it’s devilish face. His homeroom teacher eyed his Haunter with suspicion.

_Troublemaker. Loner. Villain._

Aizawa’s Crobat was the ultimate silent killer, being able to swoop in soundlessly from the dark night sky. His Umbreon was a defensive powerhouse, sturdy but agile. His Arbok could crush opponents with its tail and inflict poison. His Haunter could melt into the shadows and reappear when needed.

He had a team that loved battling. They were meant for it, and they loved fighting by his side.

They were bored and underappreciated in General Studies.

Aizawa longed to be a hero.

* * *

Aizawa was… less than pleased with one of his new classmates.

The Sports Festival cemented his name as someone to be reckoned with in the school. He bested nearly every opponent, most of whom relied too much on their quirks. His Pokemon team was a frightening force.

And his first day in his new Heroics course had him sitting next to none other than Yamada Hizashi, the loud-mouthed popular kid he saw fight with a Chatot and Exploud.

Wonderful.

* * *

Training was the best part of his new classes. He was a superb at learning hand-to-hand combat, and caught up with his classmates quickly. (Some of them hated the fact that he could take away what made them special.)

And Aizawa even grew to appreciate the restless, half-American kid that sat next to him. He could tell that Yamada was well-meaning, surprisingly so, but had some serious boundary issues; Aizawa very much did not like to be touched or shaken awake from his naps.

Yamada invited him to eat together at lunch. They sometimes studied together, too.

Yamada also claimed that his Noibat and Aizawa’s Crobat were “bat buddies” and deserved to have playdates together. Aizawa didn’t mention that his Crobat was five times the size of the fledgling bat, mainly because Yamada could be as stubborn as he was, but louder.

(He did catch his Crobat watching Yamada train his Noibat more than once.)

So Aizawa hung out with someone after school for the first time in who knew how long. He and Yamada were sitting in a park at around dusk, when the lighting was more bearable for most of Aizawa’s Pokemon.

“What kind of music do you like?”

Aizawa shrugged and listened to Yamada ramble about all different sorts of genres for half an hour. He eventually managed to get the topic closer to something he could actually talk about.

“So, what’s your favorite Pokemon type?”

Yamada launched into another overzealous ramble. Aizawa didn’t mind as much as before, except that he was so _loud._

“Volume.” Aizawa warned.

“Sorry!” Yamada covered his mouth with his hands almost comically.

It made Aizawa smile slightly. Above them, Crobat was trying to properly demonstrate how to hover in place.

* * *

More than a year later and Aizawa spent as much time at Hizashi’s home as his own. (He hasn’t called Hizashi _Yamada_ in a while now.)

Hizashi’s living room couch was one of Aizawa’s new favorite napping spots, and his parents were happy to feed him dinner as often as he visited.

One night, while he was sleeping over, Aizawa’s Haunter evolved into a Gengar and those glowing red eyes scared Hizashi so badly that Aizawa was kept awake by the ringing in his ears.

* * *

Between their second and third years of high school, Hizashi invited Aizawa to come visit America with him. Aizawa was skeptical, for a multitude of reasons. He had never left the country before, he barely spoke any English, and he didn’t realize that he was considered such a close friend.

But if he went, it’d mean less time he’d have to spend at home. He’d get to meet Hizashi’s family and see where he was born.

And the idea of spending more time with Hizashi was something that made something strange and warm blossom in his chest.

Aizawa agreed.

A few weeks later, and he was boarding an airplane for the first time in his life.

* * *

The flight was long and painful, but landing felt like a blessing. Aizawa took his first breath of fresh air and wasn’t particularly impressed with American until Hizashi said that they still had another flight to catch. They traveled across the country to New York, that flight being blissfully shorter than the first.

 _The_ New York City was loud, busy, and Aizawa completely understood how such a place could give rise to Hizashi. He met Hizashi’s extended family, who thankfully spoke fluent Japanese.

And spending two weeks on vacation with Hizashi was probably the most fun Aizawa ever had.

But when they came to the topic souvenirs, Aizawa didn’t really intend on taking home much. He was content to spend his time sightseeing and eating, and thought at most that Hizashi would make him buy a shirt or something.

Neither of them thought that Aizawa would pick up a stray (or two).

* * *

 They were both startled by the metallic banging sound coming from an alley one night. Being future heroes (and also kids), they decided to investigate. Leaping from a garbage can was a skinny, purple cat with smug looking eyes.

Aizawa fell in love instantly, but Hizashi tugged on his sleeve and warned him that feral Purrloins were still dangerous. They were brutal Pokemon that not many people bothered to train.

But the poor thing looked hungry and probably could use a better home.

Aizawa didn’t hesitate.

* * *

“I think it hates me.”

Aizawa looked up from his bed in the Yamada’s guest room and gave Hizashi a smirk.

“What makes you say that?”  
  
On his bed, the Purrloin was snoozing happily after getting a belly full of food.

“It hisses at me when you aren’t looking, and I found a hairball in one of my shoes.”

Aizawa snorted.

He watched as the Purrloin stretched lazily and rolled over. There was a nick in it’s left ear and a tiny scar on its belly. Eventually, it’d evolve into what would be known as the _Cruel_ Pokemon, Liepard. Another Dark type.

It would be an excellent silent killer that stalked prey from the shadows. But since Aizawa was more interested in becoming an underground hero, this hardly bothered him. He himself was already a creature of stealth.

* * *

Before leaving America, Hizashi and Aizawa make a plan to visit Relic Castle outside of New York. Despite the weather being hot and the castle sitting in the middle of a desert, Aizawa was drawn to the idea of a mysterious, old mansion.

He admitted that Hizashi knew him well.

But what Aizawa absolutely didn’t appreciate is the sheer amount of sand mounds littering the place. It got in his shoes and maked his dry eyes water and itch terribly.

He also didn’t appreciate falling through the floor.

Aizawa had just taken one wrong step, had heard Hizashi’s warning a second too late, and before he knew it, he was tumbling through mountains of sand and it got absolutely _everywhere._

He hit the ground with a grunt. Aizawa wiped his eyes and tried to make sense of where he landed. It’s too dark to see, so he pulled a flashlight from his backpack and turned it on.

He must have been in some hidden chamber, because he found himself in a mostly-empty room that was just piled high in some areas with even _more_ sand. He looked up and found that he certainly couldn’t climb out; the slope he fell down was too steep.

Aizawa also thought that he can see a few Ghost Pokemon hiding in the corners of his vision and didn’t hesitate to call out his Umbreon.

“Let’s find Hizashi and get out of here.”

They searched the room for a staircase, or anything else that would help. when Aizawa got the distinct impression of being watched. Well versed in the mannerisms of Gastly’s and Haunters, he didn’t really pay it any mind.

After searching for who knows how long, as far as Aizawa could tell, there was no hidden exit or easy way out. He sighed and looked to his Umbreon for comfort.

Except, that his Pokemon wasn't looking at him.

Aizawa followed his Umbreon’s gaze and saw a pair of yellow eyes watching from the darkness. Slowly, he shined his flashlight at the wild Pokemon, but tilted his head. It isn’t like anything he’s ever seen.

It looked like a Ghost type holding a tarnished, gray mask. It whimpered pitifully when the light shined on it and skittered back into the darkness. Aizawa didn’t think much of the incident and went back to searching for a way out.

He hoped that Hizashi had better luck at getting him out than he did.

* * *

He grew tired after a while. His stomach growled.

Aizawa sat down on the floor and rubbed his eyes.

His was jarred by his Umbreon’s low growl.

The same yellow eyes were staring at him again. Used to Ghost types, Aizawa called his Umbreon off and decided he’d only fight a wild Pokemon if it attacked first. He pulled a protein bar out of his backpack and split it in half, giving one of the portions to Umbreon.

The yellow eyes are still staring, but they seem closer now. Maybe it was just hungry. It wouldn’t have surprised Aizawa, it hardly looked like there was anything to eat in the dusty castle.

He broke his portion of the protein bar in half and threw one bit into the darkness. The yellow eyes followed it and disappeared.

Aizawa thought that his strange encounter would end, but the Pokemon came back. It hovered just within the beam of Aizawa’s flashlight, but didn’t look very menacing.

It seemed shy. Scared, even.  

Aizawa remembered that he had a Pokemon journal that Hizashi lent to him so he could look up Liepard behavior. He pulled the journal from his backpack and flicked through the pages. Despite not being able to read English perfectly, he relied mostly on the images in the book and stopped when he found something that was close enough.

“Ya… mask?”

The wild Pokemon perked up at the sound of it’s name, but Aizawa frowned. The Yamask in the picture was black and gold, with red eyes. This one was gray and blue.

It stared at him with yellow eyes.

Maybe it was sick.

Aizawa recalled how he first found his Zubat and took pity on the Yamask. He wouldn’t fight it unless he had to.

He eventually stood up and dusted off his pants. Aizawa went back to searching for a way out, but the yellow eyes of the odd Yamask came even closer. It let out a shy, warbled sound and made sure that Aizawa was staring at it before going over to hover in a corner. It stayed there.

Curiously, Aizawa walked over and his Umbreon followed. He shined his light down at the ground and found a block of stone sticking out of the sand. He uncovered it and found another stacked on top of it.

_Stairs?_

Aizawa smiled.

With a burst of air from Crobat’s wings, uncovering the staircase was easy. At last, there was a way out. Once he was at the top of the stairs, Aizawa found himself in a cleaner part of the castle. There were footprints in the sand, clear indicators that there were people nearby.

He looked down at the Yamask.

“Thanks.”

The Pokemon perked up and seemed to smile. How oddly human. It still followed him until he found a security guard and a very frantic Hizashi.

“Shouta!”

Aizawa was squeezed into a hug and groaned. He was caked in sand and dust and really wanted a shower. After Hizashi let go, he stared down at the strange, little Pokemon.

“Who’s your friend?” He asked.

“A Yamask, I think.”

Aizawa pulled out the journal and flicked it open to the page about Yamasks.

“Read this for me.”

On their way out of the castle, Aizawa learned that Yamasks were indeed Ghost types. They were rumored to be people who died, and could remember their past lives. (If that was true, then it unfortunately explained why it wanted to help Aizawa.)

“Why is it a weird color?”

Aizawa shrugged, already thinking about where the nearest Pokemon Center could be.

“I think it’s sick.”

Aizawa, unsurprisingly, ended up adopting the stray Yamask. He got a Pokeball for it and took it to a Pokemon Center.

But he didn’t know what to think when he released the Yamask from it’s Pokeball for the first time. It was still the same color as it was before being healed, and had burst from the Pokeball in a flurry of sparkles.

Hizashi squealed.  

It was a shiny.

* * *

They returned to Japan in high spirits.

Aizawa was prepared to work even harder to become a hero. His team could sense the energy brewing beneath his skin. They were as dedicated as he was to becoming stronger.

Surprisingly, he was only in school for a few months before Purrloin evolved. Maybe it was older than he originally assumed, more experienced, but he was amazed when he finally got to see a Liepard in person.

It was beautiful, with sleek, purple fur and yellow spots. It basked in his attention and fought beautifully in the dark. Fearless and lithe, it was practically _made_ for Aizawa. (But it was also a terror for Hizashi’s poor Chatot, so Aizawa couldn’t say that it was _perfect.)_

* * *

_“Hey, Shouta? You home?”_

Aizawa barely stirred from his nap. He was almost certain that the voice was just a part of his dream. He rolled over, content to stay in the comforting darkness where he could sleep. He almost dozed off completely again.

_“Shouta?"_

Aizawa grunted and tried to burrow deeper into his pillow. His napping spot quaked, warning him.

He whined and finally decided that waking up was something he, sadly, had to do.

He tapped Cofagrigus’ lid.

His Pokemon opened up with a low groan. Aizawa sat up and stretched. He opened his eyes and winced at the bright light of his apartment, no doubt turned on by Hizashi.  
  
Speaking of which, he heard a high-pitched scream that he’d recognize anywhere.

 _“Why were you sleeping_ inside _your Cofagrigus?”_

Aizawa shrugged. It was dark and comfy, and Cofagrigus knew when to open up a bit to get some fresh air in. He really didn’t think it was that odd until Hizashi came back the next day with a brand new, bright yellow sleeping bag.

* * *

A few years after he first became a hero, Aizawa still didn’t sign onto any big-name hero agency. Not like Hizashi or Iida or Kayama. But that was the way he preferred it.

Among those few who did know him, he gained a reputation as a stealth expert. He was the ideal hero for surprise attacks.

And even better, the villains who didn’t know him couldn’t prepare for him.

They couldn’t stop his Crobat from soundlessly dive-bombing them. They couldn’t be prepared for his Arbok’s glare or the devious grin of his Gengar. His Liepard, although lacking strength, was a superbly agile creature. His Umbreon could tank hits and his Cofagrigus could mummify anyone that managed to evade his capture weapon.

Many of the people who’ve seen his eyes glow red, whether hero or villain, claimed that Eraserhead was as much of a ghost as some of his Pokemon.

It was laughable, but admittedly accurate.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!
> 
> I might make this into a series or do a continuation of it in the future. 
> 
> Come talk to me on my [ tumblr! ](http://sarcastic-metaphor.tumblr.com)


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